Special thanks to DawnJ for helping me with edits. Please don't reprint my stories; writing is hard work!
***
The white war horse's massive hooves slowly rose and fell, wrenching the soft dirt on the narrow forest path that served as a causeway in northern Germania. Each footfall brought the smell of rotting soil to Marcus Drusus Tertius, perched atop the swaying beast's back, half dreaming.
The forest here was old and dark, with moss covering the ground and sunlight barely filtering through the trees. He could smell the turned earth, and he could hear clinking metal and snorting beasts over the muted silence of the forest, telltale sounds of the column on the move.
But as his body rested and his mind wandered, Tertius could also smell crushed jasmine, somehow still lingering around him. The sweet scent flirted with his mind, and he saw her obsidian hair sway and tickle her shoulders as she looked up at him. Eyes like emeralds sparkled as her gaze locked with his, and he shivered in his saddle, recalling the jolt that passed through his body.
Her bright green eyes never left his as she grasped his cock with both hands and took its head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. Tertius shook with pleasure as the olive-skinned beauty pulled back and bobbed her head halfway down his shaft, and then buried his cock deep down her throat on the third beat, and held it. Her tongue rippled along his balls while she hummed in low resonance, and Tertius exhaled sharply. His hands ran through the dark waterfall of her hair, releasing more jasmine. She pulled her head back slowly, her tongue dancing.
"A rider approaching, Drusus. Roman."
Tertius jolted awake, the pleasant remembrance falling away in tatters. The sounds and smells of the legion flooded back. Ahead, a rider with a speck of red uniform was drawing nearer to the column at a trot.
He looked toward the voice at his right and found an austere Roman with thinning steel grey curls dusting his forehead, riding an impressive brown mare. The man, whose sun-creased face crossed with scars read "SOLDIER" as plain as if tattooed there, wore a slightly bemused smile.
"Thank you, Uncle," Tertius said. "Your eyes are still as sharp as ever."
"You should thank the gods you can sleep in the saddle so easily. Or were you up late again last night?"
"Quite," Tertius said flatly. He half-heartedly tried to keep the annoyance in his voice, but the beginnings of his own smile betrayed any real seriousness. "Although sunrise certainly could be considered early."
Tertius turned his attention toward the rider as Lucius fell back a few paces. Even at a trot, the rider was upon the general's knot of cavalry in minutes. The soldier, now clearly decked in Imperial armor and the red of the Eleventh Legion, reined in his horse several meters in front of the approaching column, and thrust his closed fist against his breastplate in salute.
"Hail, General! Caius Velvus Audens sends his compliments, sir, and has asked me to inform you there is a defensible hill and glade ahead that will serve as an excellent camp."
"Hail, solider," Tertius answered loudly. "Excellent news. What is your name?"
"I am Publius Antius Decius, sir. Second Scouts, sir."
"Ride here next to me, Antius, and tell me of the road ahead."
***
Apollonia knelt on a smooth flat rock and lowered the mouth of the amphora to the brook, filling it with water. The running water gurgled pleasantly, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air here was crisp with the first hint of fall. This far north winter would come much sooner.
She pulled the large clay pot from the water, and rested it on the bank next to her. She brought her face down to the brook, cupped her hands and lifted the cold water to her mouth. After a quick drink, she refilled her hands and soaked her dusty face. She quickly splashed water on her arms as she shivered, watching the dust sluice off her ruddy Etruscan skin in little rivulets. Removing her sandals, she dipped her feet and washed her legs.
The refreshing bath seemed to wash away the road's weariness, albeit frigidly. She was not suited for the road, she decided, not for the first time. It was too dusty, and far too long to spend on her feet. She felt like she had spent fully half of her life on her feet, following the legion.
With a sigh, she refastened her sandals and stood. She looped her arm through the double handles at the top of the amphora and hoisted it, resting the base on her hip and the neck in the crook of her elbow. She turned, and carefully picked her way up the embankment.
As she crested the small cliff, the legion's camp came into view. She smiled, despite herself, as her second world unfolded in front of her. Soldiers and camp followers swarmed over the low hill and the green glade the legion was fortifying. The rambling boredom of the column had become pure order.
She wended her way though the camp, amphora on her hip, watching the beehive as it rose up around her. Grooms and farriers saw to horses. The quartermaster and cooks took stock of items in carts, checked lists, and barked orders to messengers, sending them scurrying about the camp.
Soldiers were chopping trees, digging holes, and erecting the stockade with the proficient familiarity of men who had done the same thing in the same way a thousand times.
Soon they would finish the perimeter wall, groom the horses, and prepare the food. Their tents would rise up in neat rows, and they would gather around the stewpot to eat.
She worked her way towards the large tent on the low side of the camp. Ducking her way inside the flap, she saw that Hector's other slaves had set up the tent in the usual configuration. The brazier had been stoked, despite the moderate temperature, and Hector sat reclining on his couch nearby, a cold leg of lamb and some slightly shriveled fruit arranged on the table in front of him.
Hector's heavy, hairy Greek form sagged into the couch. He had worn his gaudy rings, necklaces and bracelets -- all the portable wealth he had -- for so long that his bulging body had grown around most of the jewelry. A young girl poured wine while he gazed at his hand distractedly, wiggling his fingers to make the baubles on his fingers glitter.
Hector looked up as Apollonia approached, sharp beady eyes focusing, and then waved the girl away without looking at her. She bowed, and scurried out of the tent.
A lazy smile slid across Hector's face as he reached for his goblet and tested the wine.
"Not long now before little Sammy joins your ranks, Sunshine," he drawled. "She'll be bleeding soon, and then she'll start to earn."
Apollonia set the amphora down, knelt next to Hector and ladled some water into a basin stashed under the couch. She took a rag, and began to wash his feet.
"Yes, my lord," she said. "She's to be thrown straight into the fire like my others then, my lord."
"Not everyone can have the legion's favorite whore for a mother, Sunshine," he said, pausing mid-sentence to take a long pull from the wine. "Your magnificent upbringing isn't exactly the norm."
"Yet it's made me your top earner, my lord," Apollonia murmured, scrubbing between his sweaty toes.
"You're my top earner because half the Eleventh fucked your mother until the day she died, often at the same time," Hector sighed. "If it weren't for that fucking priestess, they probably would have fucked her for days afterward. Thank the Gods you're her spitting image. If you had half her talent, we'd all be back in Rome and you'd be fucking senators like she did. Besides, the men like raw meat -- I'm sure you remember."
